The poet Prosdocimo needs inspiration for a play. When local beauty Fiorilla attempts to start a liaison with the handsome Turk Selim (despite the fact she already has both a lover and a husband) he thinks he’s found his subject. But are things getting out of hand?

Fellini-esque Comedy

Moshe Leiser and Patrice Caurier set their production in Italy in the late 1950s/early 1960s: the time of an explosion of glamour and comic romance in Italian cinema. The sets are brightly coloured, the costumes elegant and provocative. Some of the more farcical scenes – Selim chasing Geronio round an Italian café or the ball with male chorus in ballgowns – are reminiscent of Federico Fellini at his most madcap and upbeat.

A Take on the Commedia dell’arte

Rossini and his librettist Romani based Il turco in Italia on an earlier libretto with the same title written by poet Caterino Mazzolà (the librettist for Mozart’s La clemenza di Tito). The plot owes much to the Italian tradition of commedia dell’arte, particularly character types (such as the cuckolded husband and the flirtatious young woman). The character of the poet Prosdocimo encourages us to treat the drama with a certain irony.

Musical Brilliance

The hilarious plot of Il turco in Italia inspired some of Rossini’s most sparkling music. Highlights include the trio for Prosdocimo, Geronio and Narciso ‘Un marito scimunito!’ (complete with a quotation from Mozart’s Così fan tutte), the lively Act I finale, with its build-up of characters and arguments; and Fiorilla’s bravura Act II aria ‘Squallida veste e bruna’, which she sings when she becomes convinced all her men have deserted her.

A Return to the Repertory

Il turco in Italia all but disappeared from the repertory during the latter part of the 19th century, as Rossini fell out of fashion. It came back to public attention in October 1950, when Luchino Visconti staged a production for Maria Callas, who was keen to play a comic role. The production was so successful that the opera’s popularity grew rapidly. Moshe Leiser and Patrice Caurier's production of Il turco in Italia was The Royal Opera’s first; it had its premiere in 2005 and was revived in 2010.

Callas recorded for EMI (now part of the Warner stable) for the best part of her professional life. It remains perhaps the most remarkable discography left by a singer, and huge thanks are due to Warner for returning to the original recording tapes in a gigantic undertaking that has resulted in Callas’ entire catalogue being reissued and remastered with sound quality unlike we have heard before. Cleaned up but with their essence not tampered with, her recordings are now more immediate and fresh, instantly arresting and it has become easier to comprehend the genius that Callas unquestionably was. You can invest in the complete works with an awesome box set, or buy recitals and operas individually. But if you want to have a listen to how great the changes are, you could start with Pure, a single-CD release featuring tracks from throughout her career. Many of them were recorded in her prime, with some from the latter years when vocal troubles beset the voice – but not the art. As a CD of favourite soprano arias, it works perfectly. As a sampler of the Callas catalogue, it merely hints at the treasures within.

We need hardly pretend we didn’t know Antonio Pappano was a great Rossinian, so the spark evident in this disc won’t surprise anybody. Pappano 'gets' Rossini – the subtle gradations of colour and tempi that make this music unique - and here he catches the tinta of each overture. It’s a great mix of the familiar and the less so – overtures from La Cenerentola and Il barbiere di Siviglia we can all hum along to, alongside lesser-known extracts from Semiramide and Le siege de Corinthe, the latter almost Mozartian in its formal detail. The penultimate track is the opening of Guillaume Tell, which Pappano will conduct later this Season - one of six operas at Covent Garden he's unleashing his baton on in 2014/15. Finally, the disc is rounded off on an unexpected note with a wind quartet, 'Andante e tema con variazione' – a work totally unfamiliar to me but well worth hearing.

It seems that there's no stopping Cecilia Bartoli in her quest for the rare and the valuable. Her latest musical excavation takes her to the Imperial court of St Petersburg, where Italian opera was all the rage with the Tsars. Much of the music though has fallen into obscurity, but on this CD you can enjoy an astoundingly good selection of arias never before recorded - and in many cases - not heard in centuries. The range is astonishing and each work plays to Bartoli’s strengths: if the voice is no longer as full as it was, it is still remarkable in its flexibility and range and fully equal to the technical demands of the style. Bartoli has never gives less than her all, and as ever her energy and commitment bursts from the speakers. If Cimarosa is the only familiar composer on the disc, the real discovery for me is Raupach, writing in Russian: full marks to Bartoli for delivering some fiercely challenging music in a language she has not sung previously. This is the best of her recent discs, I think, and a must-have.

On 24 June 2014 English National Opera hosts Call Me George, a gala celebration of the life of Lord Harewood, in recognition of his incalculable contribution not only to the company but to British opera as a whole.

George Lascelles, seventh Earl of Harewood and grandson of George V, was born in 1923. As a child he displayed a good ear for music and an insatiable interest in its facts and history (much to the bewilderment of his royal relatives, who thought him 'quite normal otherwise'), and a love of cricket and football.

After serving in World War II, where he was imprisoned in Colditz, Harewood began writing opera criticism, and founded the periodical Opera in 1950. After writing a stern review of Kobbé's Guide to Opera Harewood was invited to edit the handbook, and his significantly revised 1954 edition became a bible for opera lovers. Harewood remained as editor and co-author of new editions of Kobbé for 30 years.

Harewood joined the Royal Opera House as a director in 1951 and was an administrative assistant 1953–60, returning again as director 1969–72. Closely involved in casting, he was instrumental in engaging Maria Callas for her Covent Garden performances. He became close friends with Callas and many great musicians, including Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears.

But it is his for his work at ENO that Harewood is best remembered. He became managing director of the then Sadler's Wells Opera in 1972, and campaigned for the company's name change, in recognition of its national significance. During his tenure he invited directors such as Nicholas Hytner and Jonathan Miller, encouraged singers such as Lesley Garrett and Willard White and forged great partnerships with conductors such as Charles Mackerras, with whom he campaigned for the revival of Janáček operas in the UK.

Harewood's goal was to change the way British people thought about opera. His love for the art form and extraordinary knowledge about it ensured his success. He strongly encouraged ENO's policy of renewal towards productions, and while he accepted not every innovation was a success he argued 'If you want the flowers in your garden to be glorious and to smell good, you must risk an occasional stink.'

Harewood resigned as managing director of ENO in 1985 but stayed as chairman of the board until 1995. He was president of the company until his death in 2011. Among his many other roles he was artistic director of Edinburgh Festival 1961–5, managing director of English National Opera North 1978–81 (where he supervised the foundation of a new centre in Leeds and worked towards its change to Opera North in 1981), governor of the BBC 1985–7, president of the British Board of Film Classification 1985–97 and president of the English Football Association 1963–72 (during which time England won the 1966 World Cup).

The proceeds from ENO's celebratory gala will go to the ENO Harewood Artists programme, launched in 1998 in order to enable UK-trained young singers to sing in a world-class opera company.

The aria ‘Vissi d’arte’ from Puccini’s Tosca is one of the most famous moments in operatic history. But it almost didn’t make it into the final version of the opera, as the composer was worried by its ability to bring the evening to a halt: it is a show-stopper in the most literal sense.

Of course, Puccini's concerns were well-founded. ‘Vissi d’arte’ always brings a performance ofTosca to a stand-still, not least because of audiences' enthusiastic applause. But opera fans have never seemed to mind. In fact, it has become one of the composer’s most popular arias.

It comes mid-way through Act II. Tosca, a famous singer, has been summoned to the apartment of Baron Scarpia, the chief of police, where her lover, the republican Cavaradossi, is being held prisoner. Scarpia tells Tosca that Cavaradossi’s life will be spared if she sleeps with him. At which point, Tosca begins to sing her despairing prayer.

‘Vissi d’arte’ is a heartfelt plea to God, one of a number of operatic prayers: ‘I lived for my art, I lived for love, I never harmed a living soul… why, why, o Lord, why do you reward me thus?’ For a moment the opera’s otherwise relentless forward momentum is paused as we – and Scarpia – are held spellbound by her prayer.

The aria's show-stopping effect is in part due to how Puccini has structured the act. The key, tempo, dynamics and orchestration all change for the opening bar of the aria. After the heated exchange between Scarpia and Tosca immediately before – complete with martial snare drums – there’s a huge rallentando and diminuendo, musically signposting the aria as a stand-alone moment. The tempo changes from a nippy allegro to the relative stillness of andante lento appassionato (a slower 'walking' pace).

The fact that the aria stands alone, almost as a performance within a performance, allows star sopranos the chance to experiment – and not just vocally. One of the most acclaimed Toscas was Moravian soprano Maria Jeritza (1887–1982) who, when performing the second act of the opera in the early 1900s, fell during the scuffle with Scarpia and found herself singing ‘Vissi d’arte’ from the floor. And – with Puccini’s approval – that’s how she performed it for the rest of her life.

Maria Callas shared Puccini’s concerns about the aria’s power to bring the opera to a halt and even argued that it should be cut. But thankfully for opera fans past and present, ‘Vissi d’arte’ remains at the heart of Puccini’s Tosca as a show-stopping, heart-stopping paean to the power of art.

Tosca runs from 10 May–26 June 2014. Tickets are still available.
The production is generously sponsored by RLM Finsbury.

Renato Cioni made his professional debut at La Scala, Milan, in 1961, and his Royal Opera debut the following year, singing the Duke of Mantua in Rigoletto. His international breakthrough, however, was made three years later when The Royal Opera cast him as Cavaradossi in Franco Zeffirelli’s historic 1964 production of Tosca with Maria Callas and Tito Gobbi.

John Tooley, then General Director of the Royal Opera House, recognized that to cast a relative unknown opposite two great stars was a risk. He later remembered, 'We need not have worried: Callas warmed to him, and went out of her way to help him come to terms with the challenge.' Cioni's commanding performances have become part of Royal Opera history.

Cioni returned for the 1965 revival of Tosca, singing opposite Marie Collier and Gobbi and later that year he created the role of Gabriele Adorno in Gobbi's new production of Simon Boccanegra, opposite Gobbi in the title role. In 1966 he returned to sing in revivals of both Tosca, singing with Collier and Gabriel Bacquier, and Simon Boccanegra, with John Shaw.

Cioni's final role creation was Alfredo Germont in Luchino Visconti's 1967 production of La traviata, singing alongside Mirella Freni as Violetta and Piero Cappuccilli as Giorgio Germont. But it was as Cavaradossi that Cioni made his final performance with The Royal Opera in 1969, again singing with Collier and Bacquier.

Other screenings include Orpheus in the Underground, a 1975 BBC film inspired by Offenbach's opera and based around eight pop songs; and Italian Opera Company, a short documentary directed by John Schlesinger, following a touring company's performance at Drury Lane Theatre in 1958.

A panel discussion debating the future of opera on TV will close the season on 30 April.

The autumn of 1840 was a difficult season for opera buffaat La Scala, Milan. On 5 September, the audience booed the young Giuseppe Verdi’s Un giorno di regno off the stage. The opera was one of the composer's only two comedies - the other being Falstaff. Less than a month later, on 3 October, Gaetano Donizetti’s La Fille du régiment received its Italian premiere as La figlia del reggimento, largely with the same cast as Un giorno di regno. Donizetti’s piece fared better than Verdi’s, but its initial reception in Milan was not enthusiastic – hardly comparable to the French original, which had taken Paris by storm.

A review by the prominent critic Pietro Cominazzi published in the music journal Il Figaro a few days after the premiere explained the disappointing reception:

You must imagine what kind of welcome this little foreign farce, succinct, mindless, could have received, repeating continuously the boldest and most lowbrow songs of the barracks!"

The Italian version of La Fille du régiment, however, went on to be staged widely during the 1840s and beyond. La figlia del reggimento easily outpaced the original French version for much of the 20th century, prevailing not only in Italy but also internationally. Prima donnas from Lina Pagliughi to Maria Callas and Edita Gruberová have performed and recorded selections in Italian. In fact it was only following Joan Sutherland and Luciano Pavarotti’s legendary 1967 recording that the original French version became the favourite of today’s audiences, produced regularly on the world’s leading opera stages.

La figlia del reggimento rapidly became assimilated into the Italian opera buffa repertory. This was made possible not only by the nationality of its composer, but also by ways in which it connected to dramatic themes and comedic stereotypes of 19th-century Italian opera. One of those themes is the presence of military characters. In that period the theme resonated not only with the timeless comic trope of the miles gloriosusbut also with current historical circumstances; since the Napoleonic wars, foreign troops had become a regular presence in Italy, one that the locals often perceived with resentment and that served as a powerful visual and auditory reminder that no military and political autonomy existed in most Italian states.

Despite the initial reaction of the audience at La Scala and Cominazzi’s contempt for this ‘little foreign farce’, there are important connections between La Fille du régiment and the culture of 19th-century Italian opera. La figlia del reggimento probably struck a familiar chord because of the presence of deeply heartfelt moments, especially in the splendid Act II aria for the protagonist, 'Par le rang et par l'opulence', where the soprano fulfills the task of making many in the audience shed a few tears in the middle of a lighthearted comedy – the female equivalent of L'elisir d'amore's gorgeous 'Una furtiva lagrima'. In an age when Italian opera buffa, thanks also to Donizetti himself, had become prone to sentimental effusiveness, the audience probably expected nothing less.

This is an extract from Francesco Izzo's article 'Border Control', which can be read in full in the red programme book, available in the theatre at performance times and from the ROH Shop.

Today marks 100 years since the birth of the much-admired operatic baritone Tito Gobbi, one of the 20th century’s greatest operatic singers and actors.

Gobbi, who made his operatic debut at the age of 22 in the small town of Gubbio (singing the role of Count Rodolfo in Bellini’s La sonnambula), performed in opera houses across the globe from 1935 until his retirement in 1979, building up an impressive repertory of over 100 roles.

He was perhaps most famous for his charismatic interpretation of the evil chief of police Scarpia in Puccini's Tosca, and his pairing with the legendary soprano Maria Callas in this opera is commonly regarded as one of the operatic highlights of the post-war era. During one performance at Covent Garden, Gobbi had to remain in character as Scarpia while extinguishing a flame with his bare hands when Tosca’s dress caught fire from a nearby candle. A recording of their performance is available from the Royal Opera House Online Shop.

Despite his stellar success as an opera singer, Gobbi’s talent was not spotted until he had finished school. ‘I was told not to sing in the school’s choir concert’, he explained in an interview with Roy Plomley on Desert Island Discs. ‘I was always out-of-tune and so the choir-master told me to mime - that was my debut in the chorus!’

Gobbi enrolled to study Law at the University of Padua, but soon abandoned his course in order to study singing with renowned Italian tenor Giulio Crimi in Rome. He went on to work with coaches in La Scala. He wryly described his first appearance there (when he was asked to replace a singer in a minor role in Pizzetti’s Oreseolo) as a ‘disastrous debut’: unsure of when he was supposed to enter, he rushed onstage early, interrupting the aria of the lead singer. His many subsequent performances for La Scala were far more successful, and included a much-praised performance as the title role in the Italian premiere of Berg’s Wozzeck.

His performances of Italian opera were also acclaimed including appearances as Figaro (Il Barbiere di Siviglia), Giorgio Germont (La Traviata), Iago (Otello), Marcello (La bohème), Scarpia, Jack Rance (La fanciulla del West), Michonnet (Adriana Lecouvreur), Carlo Gérard (Andrea Chénier), and the title roles of Verdi’s Macbeth, Rigoletto, Simon Boccanegra and Falstaff, and Puccini’s Gianni Schicchi. These last two roles made fine use of Gobbi’s gifts as a comic actor. Gobbi also created several roles in Italian operas.

In the 1950s and 60s, at the height of his career, Gobbi also turned his hand to producing. His own production of Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra, in which he sang the title role, was performed by The Royal Opera in 1965. Gobbi’s other roles for The Royal Opera included Rigoletto, Falstaff, Iago, Posa (Don Carlo), Count Almaviva (Le nozze di Figaro), Don Giovanni and, of course, Scarpia. Both as a singer and as a director, Gobbi was renowned for his professionalism and for his warmth and kindness towards his fellow-singers.

As summer broke, Cecilia Bartoli’s much heralded recording of Bellini’s Norma hit the shelves. If, like me, you raised an eyebrow at the prospect of Bartoli taking on this most iconic of bel canto roles, you’ll understand why I waited a while to write about it.

You may also, like me, be forced to eat your proverbial hat. This is a fascinating and valid recording. Vincenzo Bellini's Norma must have seemed revelatory in 1831, and it does so again here under Giovanni Antonini’s taut and driven performance, free from the lushly Romantic sound we are used to in this opera. It crackles from the off, properly underlining the central conflicts that make Norma such as exceptional opera.

Is Bartoli the Norma we’ve all been waiting for? In some respects, yes. The vocal grandeur of a Callas or Sutherland is not hers to command, but she matches the former’s intensity and sings with much of the latter’s tonal beauty. But hers is a far more intimately scaled portrait, and within the context of this recording Bartoli challenges and redefines our expectations. The other role casting helps maintain the lighter vocal balance: Sumi Jo is credibly girlish as Adalgisa against Bartoli’s more primal priestess. John Osborn is a lyric tenor with dramatic leanings, and his Pollione too is a perfect fit, as is Michele Pertusi’s Oroveso.

This is a Norma Bellini would recognise. It may not topple the already legion and legendary recordings we have, but it is a vital bookend to any bel canto collection and demands to be heard.

Signalling a new career path, Anna Netrebko’s new all-Verdi CD is a thing of inconsistent beauty. There is clearly repertoire here that she is ripe to sing: the Trovatore exerpts, for example, are stupendously good: the line sustained, colours found, trills executed, drama communicated. Her Lady Macbeth (a role debut as the Lady is already in her diary) is grandly sung with all the right spirit if wayward attack, and her Don Carlo Elisabetta a marvellous creation even in embryonic form. Other passages fare less well – the Vêpres Bolero kept too much in the chest and robbed of brio, the breath too short at times. But put the niggles aside: this is where Anna Netrebko is going, and on the balance, we are in for some very thrilling nights at the opera.

ICA needs an award given to them: they’ve mined a treasure of vintage ballet footage from the BBC archives, and released, on CD, the Callas Violetta and Tebaldi Tosca, both recorded live at the ROH.

And now comes Callas’ Medea, broadcast on 30 June 1959. To all intents and purposes Callas’s stage career was virtually over – a handful of performances remained over the next five years, and a string of ill-advised concerts after that. Listening to this Medea makes the loss almost more incredible: Callas is in spectacular voice, biting through the drama, shaping line after line as only a master of their art can, and it is only in a live context that we can fully appreciate the size and thrust of her voice. She shares the stage with her favourite Giasone, Jon Vickers and no less than a young Fiorenza Cossotto as Neris and Nicola Zaccaria as Creonte. Nicola Rescigno is an efficient conductor. The performance is of its time – the orchestra is not entirely at home in this idiom, the chorus sounds willing rather than skilled, and the sound is decent, no more. You will want this above all for Callas and Vickers, whose duet is worth the price of the disc alone.

A seedy motel room, a tender pas de deux from The Royal Ballet’s Sabina Westcombe and Tristan Dyer, and an impassioned cross-dressed channelling of the great Maria Callas – we’ve now released an extended version of our Summer Season film.

The trailer references the latest brochure cover image and was directed by Royal Opera House Audio-Visual Producer Tom Turner. Tom directed our Olympic-themed World Stage films and many of our production trailers, including Nabucco.

‘The film is primarily about transposing the sensation experienced by the audience, dancers, singers and musicians during a performance', says Tom, ‘it aims to bottle that feeling of being fully committed and lost in the moment.’

‘I’ve tried to create a narrative that draws on the emotional connection performers and audience experience through our art forms. There is a sense of voyeurism in how we see this very intimate scene, in the same way artists and musicians deliver their heart and soul during a performance.’

The film was wholly created in house, drawing on the talent and resources within the Royal Opera House and filmed in one of The Royal Opera’s cavernous rehearsal rooms.